


The Legacy of Captain America

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Historical Artifacts, Historical References, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Smithsonian Museum, media fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <b>The Legacy of Captain America</b>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p>November 17th, 2010 to Present<br/>Museum: American History Museum<br/>Location: 1st Floor, East Wing, The Legacy of Captain America, Gallery 107<br/></p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	The Legacy of Captain America

**Author's Note:**

> lol real talk i googled for 97 years to try and find out information on how the smithsonian named and categorized their artifacts and n o t h i n g came up so if someone knows how to do it pls send me an ask or leave a comment i'll be your best friend forever
> 
> un beta'd for the moment so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> expect a few more installments detailing other artifacts in the exhibit; not all of them will be implicitly related to steve and bucky's relationship ~~but let's be real most of them probably will be~~

**James Barnes is well known as Captain America’s best friend and brother in arms, from the streets of Brooklyn to the battlefields of World War II Europe. The reality of the relationship between the Captain America and James Barnes is a topic that was long disputed by both college students and historians alike. After Ellen Higgins published the _The Study of World War II Heroes Through A Queer Lens_ in 2007, many individuals called into question the sexuality and personal life of the Captain, and even some of his fellow comrades, Barnes included. In the summer of 2008, anthropologists unearthed a letter in the mountains of Germany. The letter was dated September of 1945, addressed to Captain Steve Rogers, and signed James Barnes. Barnes died tragically in a fall from a moving train in Nazi Germany in late 1945. Barnes' letter in its' entirety was able to be recovered. It has been on display at the Smithsonian since 2010. The contents of this letter put many of the questions regarding the true nature of their relationship to rest. **

**The full manuscript of the letter can be found below.**  
  


###### 

Dear Steve,  


There’s a lot I’m never going to get to say to you. I think I’ve made my peace with that. The thing is, Steve, that there’s so much that needs to be said. I just have no idea where to start.  
  
It’s always been you and me, pal. From Brooklyn kids who ruled the world with scraped knuckles and bruised knees and busted lips to the national icon and sniper leading a group of ragtag soldiers to fight to good fight. We’ve always… had each other. We’ve always been there for each other.  
  
But there’s more to my side of the story, Steve, and I’m not making it out of this one. This is the one fight I can’t win. And trust me Steve, I’ve tried. I’ve fought it harder than I ever fought for you or for this country. I can’t change it. I’m caught on a damn freight train that’s picking up speed and it’s gonna crash inevitably and when it does, I’ll be ready. I’ll be ready for you to hate me. I’ll be ready to let you go.  
  
I’m not expecting you to understand, and I definitely ain’t expecting you to return it. Think of it as… some awful gift, some great burden, that I’m leaving you with. Some secrets are meant to stay that way, but this one can’t. Sorry Stevie, but I can’t die over here knowing that I took this with me to my grave.  
  
You’ll have to forgive how sappy this is whole mess is, but I’ve gone through half a damn bottle of whiskey and a whole pack of cigs and I still can’t get you out of my mind. You’re always _there,_ dammit. Whether it’s a poster of you or your scent on my uniform or a joke that Dugan’s reiterating for the thousandth time. And I shouldn’t hate it like I do, but your name has become a sliver of wood under my fingernail, digging in deep whenever it’s present.  
  
When I’m gone, I hope you look to the skies and see me smiling back at you. I hope you’re the one soldier that makes it home; you deserve to see the streets of Brooklyn again. My one prayer has always been that you’re safe and happy, Steve, you know that.  
  
God, if you’re watching me write this, know that I’m on my knees begging. Think of it as a dying wish before the bullet physically pierces skin. Bring him home, dammit. Leave the rest of us here to die, bleeding out in enemy territory with bullets sinking into our skin, knives through the soft parts of our stomachs, I don’t care, but don’t you dare leave him cold again.  
  
I’m not a hero, Steve; I never have been. They won’t remember me, and I don’t want them too. I don’t want the glory and speculation that comes with being a part of history. What I want, what I’ve always wanted, is you. Any and every way I can have you.  
  
And knowing that the one thing I want, the one thing I’ve ever wanted, is sitting right beside me all the time, but never being able to reach out for it? It’s broken me. I am a broken man that no one’s ever laid a hand on. I’m a broken man with no scars to provide an explanation for my pain. It’s all invisible; internalized. It was meant to stay that way, but tonight, you sat next to me at that bar, and I realized that I couldn’t ignore it. That I couldn’t keep living like I don’t feel something dangerous and terrifying and all encompassing for you.  
  
Like I said before, Steve, loving you was the one fight I couldn’t win. I can beat up punk ass kids in Brooklyn alleyways and I can shoot Nazis and Hydra agents without blinking an eye, but goddamn if I can look at you without tripping over my own two feet.  
  
You straight up stole my heart, Stevie.  
  
I love you. I love you because you’re my best friend, and I love you because you’re the only one I’ll ever really want. I love you because you show me truth; you show me the person I am, and the person I want to be. My love for you keeps me warm, burning like a fire with an endless supply of oxygen. My love surpasses admiration and adoration and all of those ephemeral emotions, Steve, and if nothing else, I need you to know that.  
  
This love is a bond that cannot be broken, by this century or the next, by death or by torture. No, this love is timeless, Stevie, permanent in a way no one else could _ever_ understand. It goes beyond this life. It goes beyond my physical being, beyond where I stand on this Earth. I never used to believe soulmates existed, but that was before I started looking at you like you were the goddamn sun, and all I could think about was burning up in your atmosphere. It was before all I wanted to do was make a home for myself inside your bones, to take some tiny piece of your heart and put my mark on it, just so you’d always have me, always know I was there.  
  
You’ll never hear me say any of this out loud, and that’s like a goddamn dagger in my heart, twisting anytime the feelings flare up, threatening to escape the tight cage I've built around them, but I won’t. I won’t ruin this for you. You deserve happiness, Steve. All my life I’ve had to sit back and watch you cough your lungs up every winter, wheeze half to death during the blazing hot summers. If anyone deserves that junk you’ve got swimming in your veins now, it’s you. Steve, you’re _thriving._ I can see it in your eyes. You’re alive. You believe in yourself. You’ve finally got the means to take down the bullies of the world like you’ve always wanted to. I know how much that means to you, how much you believe this is a gift more than a curse, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna be the person that ruins it.  
  
You're my world, Steve, and I'm sorry that I couldn't give you the universe you deserve.  
  
Know that I have loved every part of you, for years on end. Know that I'm sorry that I won't see the streets of Brooklyn again. Know that I will miss you, more than even the angels can fathom. Know that I will always be with you. Know that even though you'll never read this, I will never stop loving you.  
  
Know that one day, in this life or the next, I will see you again. Know that when I do, I will hold you, and I will never _ever_ let go again.

Yours eternally,  
Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> for all of you wondering about all of the allusions to train and falling and letting go and holding on; yes they were all intentional ~~somehow that makes it a hell of a lot more painful tbh~~
> 
> feel free to leave a comment or send me an [ask](http://stvnbucky.tumblr.com/ask) about what you thought!


End file.
